


Next Stop

by notmyyacht



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Drabble, First Meetings, M/M, Subways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-11-01 06:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyyacht/pseuds/notmyyacht
Summary: It wasn’t that Crowley meant to smack his shoulder into the other man’s as he walked through the subway car… but he meant to. Anything to get those hazel eyes to look up from that infernal book in the other man’s hands.





	Next Stop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wordsinbetween](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsinbetween/gifts).

> I was prompted by the lovely raptorwhisperer on tumblr to do ineffable hsubands and a combination of the prompts: "meeting on a train ride au" and "literally bumping into each other au." Hope you like it!!
> 
> This is my first time writing for these two, so I hope I do them justice (even in a human AU). Not beta'd so any and all mistakes are on me! Enjoy! =D

It wasn’t that Crowley _ meant _ to smack his shoulder into the other man’s as he walked through the subway car… but he meant to. Anything to get those hazel eyes to look up from that infernal book in the other man’s hands. 

Every day Crowley would see him on the train to work. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been taking the same one, but after one eventful train ride, he started having a hard time not noticing the man. 

The morning he had noticed the other man had been horrible. He was running late and had to take a later train. Crowley’s usual train always ran right before the morning rush, but this morning, he had slept in and was behind half an hour. 

Every car seemed to be packed with people. So much for beating the rush. Crowley managed to squeeze in, politely smiling at anyone he made eye contact with. Finally, he had found an inch of space next to the seats along the wall that he could linger; he placed a hand on the nearest bar to keep his balance as the train pulled out. 

He stood with his back to the seats and awaited his stop. 

The overhead speaker announced their arrival as the train slowed and its passengers continued to move, swaying in place. Equilibrium returned and Crowley’s grip on the bar slipped. He felt gravity push him back, his feet losing any sense of balance. He fell back onto the unsuspecting person sitting behind him. 

“Oof!” said the man in surprise. Crowley was only on his lap for a moment, but it was enough to bring an embarrassing red to his cheeks. He jumped to his feet and faced the man. 

Wide hazel eyes stared up at him. Crowley briefly wondered if his hair was really that white or if the fluorescent lights of the subway made it look as angelic as it appeared. He would later recall that he had seen that white blond head before. On his usual train. 

“Sorry…” was all Crowley could say.

And then Crowley saw him again. And again. And again. 

The man would always sit off to himself, eyes glued to a book as he waited for them to call his stop; almost always it would be a different book (how many books can a person read!?). Crowley couldn’t help but notice it was the stop just before his. Not that Crowley would admit he was counting, but they spent a total of fifteen minutes on the train at the same time. And then, every time, as the train slowed, the man would finally tear his gaze from his book with a small smile, wait until the train came to a complete stop, then make his way to the doors.

Crowley should probably say hi. Just once. But where was the fun in that? “Accidentally” bumping his shoulder into the stranger’s was certainly a better idea.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” said the man, locking eyes with Crowley. The man paused. “Didn’t we meet the other day?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Crowley. Maybe this wasn’t the best approach. Too late now. “Sorry about that. I was running late that day.” Crowley mentally slapped himself. He didn’t need to explain, it’s not like the man thought he was stalking him… or did he?

“As was I,” said the man. At least now Crowley knew he wasn’t being stalked. Not that he expected this person to be a stalker… “I am Aziraphale.”

_ Gesundheit _, thought Crowley, though he actually liked the name.

“Crowley.” 

“A pleasure. Would you care to join me?” asked Aziraphale, gesturing to the two empty seats beside them.

Crowley smiled, his chest fuzzy and warm. And he did.


End file.
